


World Kup Champions

by Decepticonsensual



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Painplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4941856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A handful of PWP vignettes featuring my favourite old timer, Kup.  This is sort of the "Kup Does Cybertron" collection.  Old mechs are like vintage high grade - they just get better with age.  And Kup has always been good at teasing out the weaknesses and secret desires of those under his command... and gratifying every.  Single.  One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Kup of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Finally getting around to archiving these! These stories were the product of an impromptu fic fest on Tumblr, inspired by the amount of hate Kup was getting. I felt the urge to show off what I love about him. :) Also, all the titles are hideous, hideous puns. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Rated PG-13-ish; features consensual bondage and D/s. I should also note that Prowl is Kup's trainee here (but is an adult; Kup's calling him "kid" is affectionate, not literal).

Kup still couldn’t believe he was the first to cotton on to the fact that Prowl so  _obviously_ needed this.

 

The young trainee was trembling so hard that his doors, clamped together as they were, were audibly knocking.  Handcuffs (an old pair he’d kept from his cop days, and really, that was all anyone needed to know about Prowl’s fantasy life) bound his wrists behind his back, while two spreader bars – one at the knees, the other at the ankles – kept his legs apart, putting the inner seams of his thighs and the flashy black-and-red of his panels nicely on display.  The finishing touch was a length of chain running from the collar down to latch onto the ankle bar.  There was enough give in it that it encouraged, rather than forced, Prowl to arch his back.  The encouragement was enough, it seemed; the bot’s entire body was bent like a bowstring. A taut, shivering bowstring that was generating enough heat it was a wonder Kup’s plating hadn’t caught fire.

 

Kup leaned back, and surveyed his handiwork.

 

“Still,” he murmured, laying a weathered hand on the upper edge of one of Prowl’s doors.

 

And Prowl – remarkably – stopped shaking.  He took a couple of deep, unsteady ventilations, and his engine sputtered and turned over, but his body stayed still.

 

“That’s good, kid, that’s real good.”  Kup circled him slowly, drawing the tip of one finger along the edge of one door, right up to Prowl’s body, and then away along the edge of the other.  The door fluttered minutely within the clamp, but then stilled again immediately.

 

“You’re doing so well.  Just stay like that – that’s all you need to do.” He took his time working back to stand in front of Prowl:  raking his fingertips along a seam here, drumming them on a delicate bit of armour there.  His trainee’s EM field crackled with charge.  “That’s  _all_ you need to do. Nothin’ exists outside this room, remember?  There’s nothin’ but me. So you just listen to my voice.  You got that?”

 

Prowl nodded feverishly, and Kup grinned.

 

Now. Praxian frames had some obvious sensitive spots; Prowl would probably be expecting him to go for the doors again, or take a lick of that chevron.  Tempting though that was, Kup hadn’t lived this long without learning a thing or two about  _less_ obvious sensitive spots, as well.  Now, if Prowl’s frame was anything like that Praxian sergeant’s Kup used to serve with back in the Vanguard…

 

The old mech crouched, and licked a stripe from the biolights at the small of Prowl’s back, up and over his hip joint, and was rewarded when the bound mech’s engines  _roared_ and he stifled a screech.

 

Oh,  _this_ one was going to be fun.

 

Prowl was wound so tightly that Kup considered getting him to let go practically a duty – but he’d always enjoyed his doing his duty.


	2. My Kup Runneth Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kup likes his copters. Warnings for this chapter: Rated NC-17; BDSM/painplay.

“You call that a frag?”  The laughter was high and unhinged, even with the moan cutting it off partway through.  “I can barely feel you!”

Kup snorted.  Whirl was bleeding in a dozen places – scrapes, torn wiring, a few deeper cuts from the blade Whirl had dared him to put to use – and squirming happily in Kup’s grip, while the old mech’s spike hammered at his soaked valve.  Still, Kup obligingly increased his pace, hiking Whirl’s leg up even further (Primus bless helicopters, they were so gloriously flexible).  One hand clutched at Whirl’s thigh hard enough to dent; the other raked a trail from that trim little waist up to roughly fondle Whirl’s chest guns.  The copter whined as Kup experimentally twisted a finger in the barrel of the left gun. “Ah – ah!  That all you got, rust bucket?  Should I call the nurse to come take you back to the old folks’ home for a nice nap?  _Ahhh!  Primus – frag –_ ”

 

Kup was clutching both guns now, using them to slam Whirl back against himself, over and over.  Whirl’s whole body followed the motion like an eager wave, until the copter was practically bouncing on Kup’s spike.  Kup’s fingers wandered down to Whirl’s abdomen, and snaked between two armour plates, almost casually ripping out a stray wire.  Whirl bucked, moaning.

 

“Told you I was gonna go hard on you,” Kup purred.

 

“I can – ah! Nnnngggh – take anything you dish out!”

 

Kup gave a toothy grin at that. Then he nipped his cygar out of his mouth.

 

The tip of it vented a searing hot exhaust – something to do with mineral combustion, he had to admit that Perceptor had lost him for a bit in the middle of that explanation – that singed metal plating on contact.  Kup was under very strict medical instructions never to touch it.

 

He reached out and trailed the burning tip down the length of Whirl’s spine.

 

With a scream, Whirl overloaded, thrashing wildly.  Kup put the cygar back so that he could use both arms to wrap around Whirl, holding him through the overload.  He kept his own thrusts steady until Whirl shuddered and finally slumped back against him.

 

“There.” Kup slowed to the barest rocking of his hips, just enough to let Whirl feel it in his overstimulated valve.  “Think you can handle round two?”

 

Whirl craned his neck to look back at Kup, that single optic fever-bright. “Bring it on, old timer.”


End file.
